Head First
by donotsrock
Summary: Draco and Harry get trapped in the Dursleys’ cellar and get to spend some quality time together. Well, it’s that, or dig their way out with clothes-pegs. Warning: Slash!


Head First

donotsrock

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Harry Potter roared and kicked the rusty old bucket so hard that it flew the whole length of the cellar. With a loud clattering sound it bumped off the opposite wall and fell onto the stone floor with an even louder sound. 

"Would you please stop it!" Draco Malfoy, Slytherin prefect and future Death Eater, was sitting on Petunia Dursley's washing-machine. "I'm trying to think over here."

"Oh, really? Last time I checked you were muttering under your breath and inspecting Aunt Petunia's lingerie," Harry retorted, making a face at that particular mental image. 

"I was just getting an overview on the situation," Draco defended himself and jumped off the washing-machine. "My mother never wears stuff like that." 

Harry, not sure what to make of that comment, just raised his eyebrows.

"I mean, it's _cotton_. Who would want sexy underwear that's made of _cotton_? Wouldn't you want at least satin or silk? And besides, look at the cut," Draco said and held up a blood-red bra. "Does nothing for her figure, I can tell you. Although, I haven't seen the woman yet. Might as well be all she's got to support her. Is she fat?" 

Harry couldn't answer. He was talking about his aunt's 'sexy underwear' with Draco Malfoy, his arch-nemesis. In his uncle's cellar. 

"Well, is she?" Draco inquired, looking at him expectantly. "But I don't suppose she is. I mean, that would be far too small to fit her if she were fat. And she wouldn't wear red then. My mum always says that red is bad when you're fat. It rhymes, did you hear that?"

Harry could only stare. Maybe there were toxic fumes in here. "Malfoy," he finally managed. "_What_ are you talking about?"

"Underwear."

"I know that," he said, a bit annoyed. "I mean, _why_ are you talking about underwear?"

"Well, it's a bit boring, don't you think? And it's a muggle cellar. They've got nothing interesting in here." Malfoy finished his inspection of the washing-machine and moved on to Uncle Vernon's gardening tools. "Is that all? Doesn't he have a shovel, or pruning-shears?" 

"Yes, but he keeps them in the garage. He doesn't like to climb the steps all the time," Harry answered automatically. "That's why I have to clean in here."

"Well, you didn't do a good job then," Malfoy said and looked pointedly at the cobwebs hanging from the low ceiling. 

"I haven't even started yet," Harry snapped. "And I probably never will. I will die in a lousy cellar, locked in here with my least favourite enemy, and _it's all because of_ _you_." He spat out the last words with venom in his voice.

"Hey, one could get the idea that you think it is my fault we're locked in here."

"BECAUSE IT BLOODY IS!"

"Okay, don't shout at me!" Malfoy looked almost apologetic. "I didn't know that the door wouldn't open again."

"That's it. You've done it. Come up here." He went up the stairs until he stood in front of the heavy door – which was now locked. Harry could barely hold back his anger now. Not only was Malfoy behaving decidedly stupid, he would also be the only company he had. He might die in here with only Malfoy to talk to. Harry shuddered. A horrible thought. "Look at that!" He pointed at a big, red sign that was hanging on the wall. It read _'Careful, don't close. Door doesn't open from the inside!'_ in big black letters, and Uncle Vernon had even underlined the last part. 

Malfoy shrugged. "I didn't have time to read random signs put up by unattractive Muggles. I was on a mission."

"What mission?" Harry eyed the blond Slytherin suspiciously. "Were you trying to kill me?"

"Oh, Potter. Get real," Malfoy sneered. "How would I kill you? Use a curse that could be tracked down to me? Use a muggle devise that – as a rich, pureblood wizard – I'd get _where_, exactly? Pay someone to kill you?" He paused. "Wait, why didn't anyone think of that? Pay someone to kill you… That could actually work, you know."

"No, I don't know," he snapped. "And it wouldn't work. End of discussion."

"Anyway, I didn't come to kill you."

"Whatever, Malfoy." Harry turned around and went back down. Determined to find a way out, he began to search the cellar. However, after half an hour (he guessed the time), it was clear that there simply wasn't a way out. 

"Found anything?" Malfoy, who had settled down on the washing-machine once again, asked. 

Harry, being too frustrated to answer, merely grunted noncomittally and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"I take it that means no." Malfoy sighed. "Really, don't these Muggles have anything useful in here?" He looked around. "What's that?"

Harry glanced over to find Malfoy staring at a sack of clothes-pegs. He looked fascinated. 

"Clothes-pegs."

"Well, what do they do?"

"What do they do?", he repeated. "Malfoy, don't tell me you've never seen clothes-pegs in your life?"

Malfoy just stared at the multi-coloured plastic items. 

Harry sighed. "They keep the clothes in place on the clothes-line, so that they can dry."

"Dry on a clothes-line? Why don't they just use a drying spell?" Malfoy asked, still staring at the clothes-pegs. 

Harry sighed once more and unfolded a folding chair. 

"Oh, right. Muggles," said Malfoy. Harry was positive he'd seen Malfoy slip some pink clothes-pegs into his robes. 

"So Malfoy, what was your mission?" he asked curiously. He'd decided that while they were in here, he would have to talk to Malfoy. 

"Can't tell you. Top secret, you know." Malfoy had resumed his old place on the washing-machine. "So, when are the Muggles letting us out?"

"Huh?"

"Your relatives – the Muggles who live here. When are they gonna come and open the door?"

Harry thought about that. Yesterday night, after supper, Uncle Vernon had taken him aside and ordered him to clean the cellar – _'and I want it so clean that I could eat from the floor, boy'_. He knew that the Dudley was away for the weekend, and that his aunt and uncle were invited to some posh dinner party at one of his uncle's colleague's house. He didn't expect them to be back before midnight – and they would hardly check if he was still in the cellar. That means they'd only notice the next morning, when there was no one to cook breakfast. 

"Oh bloody hell," Malfoy said when Harry told him. 

"Yeah," he agreed. 

"Well, then hand me two of those chairs," Malfoy demanded. "And a blanket."

Frowning, Harry stayed where he was. "I'm not your servant."

"Fine," Malfoy pouted, "I'll get them myself." He jumped off the washing-machine and walked over to where Harry sat. Then he waited. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

"You're in my way, Potter."

"So what?"

"So get moving out of it!"

"And why should I? This is my cellar." Harry was getting annoyed. Why did Malfoy have to be such a prick at times?

"Your uncle's cellar," Malfoy corrected. "And if you don't move, I'll have to make you."

"Oh, really?" He stood up. He wasn't much taller than Malfoy, only an inch or two, but he was a bit heavier and stronger, too. 

"Yeah, really," Malfoy smirked. And before he could do anything, Malfoy had poked him in the ribs and kicked his shins.

"Ouch," he yelped and stumbled out of the way. 

Malfoy took two chairs and a blanket and built himself a more comfortable seat. Then he looked up at Harry and frowned. "Oh Potter, come on. It surely can't hurt that much."

"Yes, it can! I'll have blue spots everywhere tomorrow," he snarled. "And besides, you fight like a girl."

"I do not." Malfoy sat down on his makeshift sofa. "I just… use my imagination."

Harry slumped back into his chair and said: "You could have asked nicely."

Malfoy snorted. "I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys don't do nice."

"And why not? I bet people wouldn't be as afraid of you if you used 'please' and 'thank you' more often."

"Well, people being afraid of us is the whole point, isn't it? If your minions don't fear you, you're screwed." Malfoy tried to find a more comfortable position on his sofa and shifted slightly to the right. 

"I don't understand that policy." Harry shook his head. "What does being evil gain you in life?"

"You mean, apart from power, wealth and everything we want?" Mafloy shifted a bit more to the right, and suddenly he fell over with a loud _thump! _Cursing, Malfoy got back up and kicked the chair. Unfortunately, his leg got stuck in between the struts and he fell over again. 

By then, Harry could barely hold back the laughter. As Malfoy struggled to sit up again, he couldn't stand it any longer. He burst out laughing.

Malfoy huffed indignantly and freed himself from the chair. He went back to the washing-machine and turned away from Harry. 

Finally, Harry managed to control himself and he stared at Malfoy for a while. The blond was obviously pouting. His bottom lip was stuck out a little, and he had his arms crossed in front of his chest. His platinum coloured hair was a bit touseled, and he was demonstratively ignoring Harry. 

"Malfoy," he said softly. 

No reaction. 

"Malfoy," he repeated. 

Still nothing. 

"Draco."

"What?" 

"Why did you come here?"

Slowly, Malfoy turned around. His eyes glittered rebelliously, and he smiled a bit. Shocked, Harry realised that it was a genuine smile, not the patented Malfoy smirk or the shark-like grin he ususally wore. 

"I wanted to tell you something."

"And why couldn't that wait until we were back at school?"

"Because I didn't want witnesses."

Harry jumped up. "Ha! So you _were_ trying to kill me!" 

"I was not," Malfoy sighed. "Actually, I was going to kiss you."

Harry sat back down. He could only stare. But he didn't want to stare at Malfoy, because he did that half-pout again, and it looked decidedly… kiss-able. So he stared at the sack of clothes-pegs. _Maybe I can dig my way out with those_, he thought, desperately trying to keep his thoughts off Malfoy. And had he thought Malfoy's lips were kiss-able? He needed to get out of this cellar. _Toxic fumes_, he reminded himself. It was all toxic fumes. And had Malfoy said he wanted to _kiss_ him?

"Potter?" 

Harry didn't answer. He was busy ignoring Malfoy, and if Malfoy talked, that was impossible. If Malfoy talked, Malfoy's lips moved, and Harry couldn't resist staring at them. So he wanted Malfoy to shut up.

"Potter?"

"Shut up Malfoy. I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

_Ignoring you. Not thinking of you. Or your lips. Or any other body parts_, he thought. "Staring at the clothes-pegs. Now shut up."

"Okay." Malfoy bit his lip in thought – not that Harry noticed, he wasn't, after all, staring at Malfoy, but at the clothes-pegs – and then… _he licked his lips_. 

Harry breathed in sharply. Malfoy looked over, frowning, but then shrugged as Harry hissed "shut up" in his direction. 

Then: "Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"Do you mean it?"

Malfoy looked up, and their eyes met. Slowly, Malfoy nodded. 

"This is not some evil master plan to get me to trust you and then kill me?"

Malfoy frowned. "Of course not, Potter," he drawled. "If I wanted to kill you, I'd pay some bloke to do it. Probably Goyle." He paused. "Or maybe not Goyle. He's a bit… thick. He might forget what he was supposed to do and raid the kitchen instead."

"Oh." Harry had somehow forgotten what he was going to say. He'd noticed that Draco's hands were actually quite nice. Long, elegant fingers and manicured nails.

"So, do you like boys then?" Malfoy's voice brought him back to reality. 

"I don't kow."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Well, I don't know. I never had a real girlfriend – or boyfriend. I only ever kissed one girl, Cho Chang, and that didn't go well." He paused and shuddered a bit at the memory or Cho's wet kiss back in his fifth year. 

"So, you've never kissed a boy," Malfoy whispered. Oddly enough, Harry could still hear him quite clearly. Then he realised that Malfoy stood only inches away. 

"W-what are you doing?"

"Help you make a decision." With that, Malfoy leaned in and pressed his lips softly against Harry's. 

All thought vanished from his brain. He couldn't think anymore. All that he could feel were Draco's lips on his, Draco's hands on his back and Draco's body pressed against him. After some time, Draco deepened the kiss and pulled Harry even closer. 

Finally, Draco loosened his hold a bit and stepped back. "So, what do you think?"

"I think… I like boys." Harry smiled. 

"Good," Malfoy said. "Care for some more… practise?"

"Sure," he smiled, and happily leaned towards Draco. 

***

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

"How late is it?"

"Wait a sec… it's 8:30 in the morning."

"And when do you think your Muggle relatives are gonna get us out of here?"

"I don't know. With Uncle Vernon, you never know. Sometimes, when he's feeling wicked, he sleep until nine…"

"Well, since we're going to stay here a little bit longer, I suppose we should strengthen out current relationsip."

"And how do we do that?"

"By taking off your shirt…"

"Good idea."

(…)

"Draco? Did you hear that?"

"Was that the door?"

"Maybe we should get our clothes back on before Uncle Vernon-"

"Why didn't you prepare breakfast? And who the bloody hell are you? What are you doing in _my_ cellar? AND WHY ARE YOU BLOODY _NAKED_!?"

*END*

A/N: So, that was my first slash story ever. Be nice and review, please. 


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